


Place Myself In Your Hands

by Sossity



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sossity/pseuds/Sossity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser searches for Kowalski on a sinking ship.  Missing scene fic for Mountie on the Bounty pt. 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place Myself In Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about 10 minutes near the end of Mountie on the Bounty, part 1, between when the Henry Allen is evacuated because of cannonball damage and when Fraser, well, finds Ray.

The running footfalls died off above Fraser as the last of the crew made it to the lifeboats. Fraser quickened his step and called harder.

"Found 'im."

Fraser flinched, relaxing when he recognized the apparition. "Dad, you really need to stop sneaking up on me like that."

"What am I supposed to do, Benton, wear tap shoes? As you're so fond of pointing out, I'm dead. I don't have footsteps. Besides, we're the last rats on a sinking ship. Who else was it going to be?"

"I don't know. It could have been Ray. It could have been men with guns coming over to search for valuables." Fraser brushed an irritated hand over his face. "It doesn't matter; I've got to keep going."

They were back in the mess hall now. The chamber lived up to its name; moonlight glinted off broken china and discarded food spattered the walls and floor. Everything looked slightly skewed with the increasing tilt of the ship.

No Ray.

He walked back out into the hall and pressed his ear to the next door, listening for unexpected hazards. He felt the handle. Fraser had no way of telling just how much or what kind of damage that cannonball had done to the ship, or if any of the electrical systems had short-circuited. A fire wouldn't last long after they sank, but it could still maim or kill in the meantime. Fortunately, this door--

"Didn't you hear me? I said I've _found_ him. What on earth are you waiting for?"

Fortunately, this door had no heat radiating from it, and there were no audible sounds besides the creaking all around them. He opened it and went inside. Crew chambers, in much the same state as the mess hall. Still no Ray.

"Are you going deaf, son? He's _this_ way." Fraser's father stepped in front of him and pointed in a direction completely counter to Fraser's search pattern.

Fraser shook his head, grimacing. "I haven't searched any of these rooms yet."

"So?"

"Well, I do have a system--"

"What the hell d'you need a system for? You just need to follow me!"

He needed to keep going. To hesitate--to _argue_ \--was to lose time, and he could absolutely not afford that right now.

He kept moving.

"What are you--you're going in the wrong dir--come back here!"

Robert Fraser's son ignored the figure jogging to catch up with him.

"What is _wrong_ with you, you bloody-minded fool?"

Fraser listened to the next door. He flicked his eyes back to his father. "I--I can't--"

"You can't what, son? Out with it!"

"I can't be sure."

"I saw him! What more do you need? A lock of the boy's hair? A notarized affidavit?"

"I can't be sure you're real!"

The words hit them both like a slap across the face. Bob Fraser straightened up and stepped back. The younger Fraser slumped against the door, wincing.

"Ah. So that's how it's going to be, is it?" Rigid stances. Clenched fists.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I--"

"Nothing to be sorry about, son. I'll just leave you to it." He turned around and began walking back down the corridor. Fraser rubbed his face, still leaning on the door. His father paused mid-step and looked back at him. "Hell of a partner you make if you can't even unbend enough to trust your own eyes." He continued his slow, stiff-backed tread.

Fraser hesitated.

Buck Frobisher had seen his father. Or had he? It could have been wishful thinking.

His folder full of barely-passed psychiatric exam results would certainly seem to indicate that he wasn't exactly the best judge of his own character. It would easily balance out a single short, possibly misinterpreted sentence.

It would only take an inch or two of standing water to drown an unconscious man.

He braced himself.

"Dad, wait."


End file.
